Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  “I hadn’t thought about the everlasting side of it. I should be quite satisfied to see the individual burn for three-quarters of an hour here.”

  “Jack—” Katharine’s face changed suddenly, as though something that shocked her had been forced upon her mind.

  “Yes — what is it? Have you guessed who it is? Do you know anything about it? Tell me!”

  “I think I know,” she answered, in a low voice, as though horror-struck by the discovery. “I’m not sure — oh, Jack! It’s awful!”

  “What’s awful? Who do you think it is?”

  “No — I won’t tell you. I may be wrong, you know, and one has no right to condemn people on a guess. But if it were—” She stopped.

  “You mean your father?” asked Ralston. “Don’t you?”

  Katharine was silent. She gave no sign of assent or dissent, but looked straight into John’s eyes.

  “Of course you do!” he exclaimed. “He was in the bank the day before yesterday. Don’t you know? I told you I saw him. And he was alone with Mr. Beman in his room. I say — Katharine — if it is, you know—”

  He did not complete the sentence, but his lower jaw went out viciously as his lips closed. Not knowing all that had passed between Katharine and her father, he had not suspected the latter at first. It was only when he remembered that he had told Katharine of his appearance at the bank, which she must remember, that he understood what she meant.

  “I’m not sure, Jack,” she said. “Don’t imagine that I’m sure.”

  “All right — I’ll ask Mr. Beman—”

  “Don’t!” cried Katharine, in sudden anxiety.

  “Why not? He’s got no right to conceal the name of a man who libels me. I shall tell him that I wish to be confronted with his informant, and that as a gentleman he’s bound to give me the chance of justifying myself. Of course he’ll say that he can’t send for Mr. Lauderdale to discuss a clerk’s character. Then I think I’ll take Ham Bright with me and go round to the Trust Company. It won’t take a quarter of an hour.”

  “Of course you have a right to, Jack,” said Katharine. “Only, I hope you won’t do that. I’m not cowardly, you know, am I? But if you knew what it meant to live in a permanent tempest—”

  “Has he been tormenting you again?” asked Ralston, quickly, and forgetting his own troubles at the mention of hers.

  She would have told him everything, and it might have been better if she had. But he had frightened her on the previous day by threatening to insist on announcing their marriage if she were further troubled at home. She thought it wiser to turn back to the original point.

  “If I were sure that it was papa who spoke to Mr. Beman, I could never be civil to him again,” she said. “Can you imagine anything much worse? I can’t. But you’re quite right to try and stay at Beman’s. It means a great deal to uncle Robert — your sticking to regular work, don’t you see?”

  “I don’t know what will happen when he dies,” said Ralston, thoughtfully. “Nobody else will ever do anything for me, when he’s gone.”

  “No,” answered Katharine, suppressing a smile at the thought of what she knew, “nobody else will do anything. Let’s hope that uncle Robert will live long enough to see you succeed. But do you know, Jack, I’m anxious about him. Of course Doctor Routh tells him he’ll get quite well again, and I daresay he will, but I can’t help feeling sometimes, when I’m with him—” she hesitated. “He’s very old, you know,” she added.

  They talked for some time of the old gentleman’s condition, and he would have been pleased, could he have heard them, at their genuine hope for his recovery. It would have balanced the sentiments of some other members of the family as he had described them to Katharine that morning. They had much to say to one another, and as there was no especial reason why John should go away, he stayed, overjoyed at his good fortune in being able to talk with her at last without the fear of interruption and of exciting attention, which beset them when they met at parties.

  It was growing late, and the sunshine had turned red and was fading from the splendid old books on the east wall of the room, when the door opened and Leek appeared.

  “Mr. Alexander Lauderdale wishes to speak with you, Miss Katharine,” he said, and then glanced discreetly at Ralston.

  It is necessary to say that Leek was almost as thoroughly acquainted with the state of the family’s affairs as any member of it, and that Alexander’s dislike of John was perfectly well known to him.

  Katharine stopped in the middle of a phrase, as though she had been struck. Ralston looked at the butler and then at Katharine, wondering what she would say. The library, constructed with a view to avoiding draughts, had only one door, which led into the hall, so that John could not go out without meeting Alexander. Katharine had not believed that her father would come to make trouble under his uncle’s roof, but he was well acquainted with the old gentleman’s habits, and knew that he would be resting at that hour. It was a difficult situation.

  “I don’t know what to do,” said Katharine, in a low voice, helpless, at first. “I can’t refuse to see him, since he knows I’m in. Can’t you get out of the room, Jack?”

  “There’s no other door,” answered Ralston, looking about. “Face it out. Let him come in!”

  “I daren’t — he’ll make another scene—”

  “Not before me — if he begins, I’ll make him stop. You can’t send him away,” he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Imagine what that man would think, and what he’d tell the other servants. That settles it.”

  Leek stood motionless by the door during the colloquy, which he could not overhear, though he knew exactly what the two were saying. Katharine hesitated a moment longer, and then gave the order.

  “Ask my father to go into the drawing-room,” she said. “I’ll come in a moment.”

  Ralston laughed softly as Leek disappeared.

  “What idiots we were — of course!” he said. “As though there were only one room. Look here, Katharine,” he continued, taking her hand as she rose, “I could slip out while you’re in there, but I’m not going to. I want to see you afterwards. I’ll wait here.”

  “Do!” answered Katharine. “I shall feel better if I know you’re here. Not that I’m frightened — but — you understand.”

  “Perfectly,” answered Ralston, looking at her.

  She left the room and he closed the door behind her. She found her father standing in the middle of the great drawing-room, in the evening light, holding his hat, and still wearing his thin black overcoat, as though he did not mean to stay long — an observation which reassured her. But his face was dark and angry and his lips looked dry and cold. She stood still at a little distance from him.

  “Katharine, what is the meaning of this?” he asked, sternly. “Why are you here?”

  “You know why I’m here, papa,” answered Katharine, quietly, for she was determined, if possible, to avoid an angry altercation.

  “I suppose you mean that you’ve come here because I locked you in your room this morning. I don’t consider that a reason.”

  “I think you’ll admit that you acted hastily,” said Katharine. “Besides, have you any objection to my paying uncle Robert a visit? I’ve been here before in the same way, you know. You always seemed pleased. Won’t you sit down?”

  She was trying to be civil, but he was in no humour to court civility. He paid no attention to her invitation, but remained standing in the middle of the room.

  “You understood perfectly well why I locked the door this morning,” he said. “It’s of no use to say that I acted hastily. I intended that you should feel my authority, and you shall. One of us two must be master. I’ll not be browbeaten, and contradicted, and disobeyed by my own daughter, besides submitting to any language she chooses to apply to me.”

  “Do you propose to take me back by force?” asked Katharine, with a smile. “You know it’s impossible. Or do you mean to argue with me? You won’t convince me, and you
ought to see that you can’t.”

  “In other words, you’ve left your father’s house without warning, and not meaning to come back,” answered Alexander Junior, coldly.

  “Not at all. I came here, with my mother’s consent, to make a visit. When you agree to treat me properly, I’ll come back. I certainly won’t stay where I’m liable to be locked up in my room by you at your discretion. It’s not safe. You didn’t even leave the key in the house, so that they might have brought me something to eat if I hadn’t been able to get out.”

  “You did get out.”

  “By a mere chance. There happened to be a key which fitted the lock, or I might be there still.”

  “It’s where you should be. How long is this state of war to last? Do you think I’ll endure it much longer? You’re mistaken.”

  “I don’t see what you can do, if you won’t treat me like a human being. Possibly you may get to the end of my patience, too.”

  “Do you mean to threaten me? Me!” Alexander’s face darkened visibly, and he drew himself up to his full height.

  “I don’t know,” answered Katharine, keeping her temper. “I might think it worth while to explain to uncle Robert, you know. I don’t think that he’d be particularly pleased if he knew all you’ve done. I merely told him that it wasn’t very peaceful in our house just now, as you wanted me to marry Mr. Wingfield, and I wouldn’t. I’ve not told him anything else — but I might, you know. I’m likely to be with him most of the day. I imagine you’d rather not offend uncle Robert.”

  Katharine was not prepared for the effect produced by this speech, which was diametrically opposite to the result she had expected. She had imagined that a reference to the will would act directly upon her father’s love of money and make him cautious. Instead of this, however, he grew more angry.

  “If you insult me in this way again, I shall certainly use force,” he said, in a harsh way. “You’re not of age, and I believe that the law can constrain you to obey me, and the police will act with the law. How do you dare to tell me that you can frighten uncle Robert into changing his will! You’re going a little further than yesterday. I’ve warned you to be careful. It’s your own fault if you go too far. The nearest Justice of the Peace will give me an order to remove you to your home in an hour. Don’t exasperate me! Put on your things and come quietly with me. If you refuse, I’ll act at once. You shall come. I say it, and I won’t be disobeyed.”

  “And I won’t be threatened,” answered Katharine, with a rising intonation. “As for your getting any order to remove me, as you call it, I doubt whether you could. I rather think that uncle Robert is a much more powerful person than you are, and that your policemen would think twice before trying to force their way into his house. Don’t you think so yourself?”

  Her anger was up, too, and her mother was not there to come between them. She forgot that the door of the drawing-room opened upon the same hall as the library, but that it was not closed except by a heavy curtain.

  “And as for your saying that I’ve gone a little further than yesterday,” she continued, her deep voice rising strong and clear in the big room, “you’ve gone further, too. You’ve been trying to hurt me by hurting the man I love. You’ve been to Mr. Beman, and you’ve told him that Jack is dissipated. Yes — I thought so — it was you who said it. You can’t deny it.”

  “Certainly not!” exclaimed Alexander. “I was quite right to warn an old acquaintance against employing such a fellow. He’s a discredit to the bank, he’s a—”

  “Stop, papa! I forbid you to say such things—”

  Alexander’s great voice suddenly broke out like thunder.

  “You! You forbid me to say what I please! I say that John Ralston’s a reprobate, a man not fit to be received in decent society, a low drunkard—”

  “Oh! Is that what you say?” John Ralston drew aside the curtain, and entered the room as he spoke.

  Katharine turned pale, but her father was no coward. His steely eyes fixed themselves on John’s face.

  CHAPTER XII.

  AS ALEXANDER JUNIOR came towards him, John Ralston advanced from the door. Katharine placed herself between them, very much as her mother had come between her father and herself on the previous afternoon. But Ralston laid his hand gently on her arm, and drew her back.

  “Please go into the library, Katharine,” he said.

  “No, no!” she cried, in answer. “I can’t leave you together — so.”

  “Please go!” he repeated. “I’m angry — I must speak — I can’t before you.”

  He pushed her with tender anxiety towards the door, and she felt his hand tremble on her arm. She yielded after a little hesitation, but paused as she reached the curtain, and looked back. John went on and faced Alexander, supposing that Katharine had left the room.

  “So it was you who spoke to Mr. Beman about me,” said Ralston, in a tone of menace.

  “You’re an eavesdropper, sir,” answered Alexander Junior, with contempt.

  “As you were shouting, and the door was open, I couldn’t help hearing what you said, Mr. Lauderdale. I was anxious about Katharine, and had come into the hall.”

  “Then you’ve heard my opinion of you. You’re not likely to change it by trying to browbeat me.”

  “I’m not browbeating you, as you call it. You’ve been saying things about me which are untrue. You’ve got to take them back.”

  Alexander Lauderdale drew himself up to his height, resting one clenched hand upon his hip. The other held his hat. He looked a dangerous adversary as he stood there, lean and steely, his firm face set like an angry mask, his broad shoulders square and black against the evening light.

  “It occurs to me to ask how you propose to make me take back anything I’ve said,” he answered.

  Ralston looked at him quietly for several seconds, as a man looks who measures another’s strength. Not that he had the slightest thought of violence, even then; but he was a born fighter as much as Alexander, if not more so. His instinct was always to strike rather than speak, in any quarrel. In a hand-to-hand encounter he would have been overmatched by the elder man, and he knew it. But that was not the reason why he lowered his voice and tried to speak more calmly, instead of growing hotter in altercation.

  “You’ve done me a very great injustice, and you’ve almost done me a serious injury — perhaps you really have, for Mr. Beman has turned me out,” he said. “It’s customary, I think, for people like us to repair such injuries as well as they can.”

  “You’ve injured yourself by your habits,” answered Alexander. “I’ve a perfect right to say so. Don’t contest it.”

  “It’s contestable, at all events. I’m willing to admit that I’ve been what’s called dissipated. More than most men, I daresay.”

  “That’s undeniable, and that’s precisely what I said, or words to the same effect.”

  “I think not. You were telling Katharine just now that I was a drunkard and a reprobate. I’ve not touched wine for months, and as for being a reprobate — it’s a strong word, but rather vague. Since you’ve used it, please define what you mean by it.”

  “It’s a general term of disapprobation which I applied to you because I think you’re a bad character.”

  “Accusations of that sort have to be supported. You must go with me to Mr. Beman to-morrow, and repeat what you’ve said.”

  “Indeed? I shall do nothing of the kind.”

  “If Mr. Beman asks you to do it, you’ll have to — at the risk of losing your character for truthfulness.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” asked Alexander, and his voice rose angrily as he stepped forward.

  “No,” answered Ralston, calmly, but in a doubtful tone. “I’m not. But you’ve made an accusation, and if you fail to prove it, Mr. Beman will form his opinion about you. I formed mine long ago. I’m turning out to be right.”

  “I’m quite indifferent to your opinion,” said Alexander, contemptuously. “And you’re not in a positi
on to influence that of lifelong friends like Mr. Beman. We’d better end this discussion at once. It can lead to nothing.”

  Katharine, who still stood by the door, her hand on the curtain, devoutly wished that in this, at least, John would follow her father’s suggestion. She had a woman’s instinctive fear of violence between men — a fear, strange to say, which has a fascination in it. If John had been inwardly as calm as he outwardly appeared to be, he would undoubtedly have seen that Alexander was right in this. But the insulting words which he had inevitably overheard rankled, as well they might, and against all probability of success, he still hoped that Alexander would make some acknowledgment of having been in the wrong. He thrust his hands into his pockets and made two or three steps, his head bent in thought. Then he turned upon his adversary suddenly again.

  “Do you know — or don’t you — that I’ve given up wine since last winter?” he enquired.

  “I’ve heard it stated,” answered Alexander. “I don’t know it.”

  “Well — it’s true. I tell you so now. I suppose you’ll make no further difficulty about taking back what you said to Katharine just now — that I’m a drunkard?”

  “If you have given up wine, you are certainly not a drunkard — at present. That’s axiomatic.” Alexander sneered.

  “Will you remove the condition? I say that I have given up wine.”

  “I should hesitate to accept your unsupported evidence.”

  “In other words, you don’t admit that I’m speaking the truth? Is that what you mean to say? Yes, or no.”

  “I don’t accept your unsupported evidence,” repeated Alexander, pleased with his own phrase.

  “Do you know what you’re saying? It’s simply stating that I’m not to be believed. You can’t put any other meaning upon your words.”

  “I don’t wish to,” answered Alexander, driven to stand by what he had said, but conscious that he had gone too far.